


Your Kingdom for a Hot Shower

by frnklymrshnkly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (implied) sexy apologies, Booby Traps, Competition, F/F, Trip wires, castles are made of stone ffs, desperation for a hot shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:31:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnklymrshnkly/pseuds/frnklymrshnkly
Summary: It’s not that Rolanda wants to rob MInerva of a hot shower. Not at all. It’s just that Rolanda measurably, empirically, objectively needs it more.





	Your Kingdom for a Hot Shower

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 3 September prompt from [Sapphic September 2018](https://golden-queen-writes.tumblr.com/post/177602640443/sapphic-september-2018) (“Come back to bed.”)
> 
> This drabble is unbeta'd. Please excuse my slovenliness.

Rolanda gingerly swings one leg to her left and places her foot on the floor carefully, first her toes, then the ball of her foot, and finally the heel. She gropes for a slipper with her foot—the flagstone is bloody freezing. Braced by one leg, she oh-so-gently lifts Minerva’s arm up off of her chest and starts scooching her back away from Minerva’s torso, one millimetre at a time, determined not to wake her lover. 

Minerva’s not a light sleeper, but Rolanda doesn’t want to risk it. Minerva gets to teach indoors everyday instead of freezing her pants off flying about in the freezing Highland air—Rolanda needs the hot water more.

That’s the thing about living in a medieval, magical castle with hundreds of other inhabitants—the hot water situation is dire. Rolanda doesn’t understand why, with all of his magical abilities, Dumbledore can’t do something about it. She should really lodge the formal complaint with the school governors that she’s been threatening since she was a junior member of staff.

And, honestly, Minerva is the Deputy Head! Surely she’s entitled to a reliably hot shower? Alas, no. 

And so, Rolanda slowly moves herself upright and gets her other foot on the floor and wiggled into a slipper in record time. She puts one palm flat on either side of her hips, and slowly pushes herself up so as not to make the mattress bounce.

It’s not that Rolanda wants to rob Minerva of a hot shower. Not at all. It’s just that Rolanda measurably, empirically, objectively needs it more. She also knows for a solid gold fact that, had Minerva woken first, their roles would certainly be reversed, which is why such caution is needed as she proceeds.

Rolanda rises to her feet, ducking her head forward before standing straight to avoid touching the string of bells that she herself had spelled into place after visiting the loo around 3.00 am. Rolanda considers herself a physical, no-nonsense kind of witch. She doesn’t need fancy spell-work to claim her rightful place in the Shower. Each night she magics bells, or pots, or glasses, or chimes, or some such to a different place in the room between the bed and the bathroom. If she’s woken by the noise of Minerva tripping her low-tech wires, she knows she can always beat Minerva in a race to the shower.

Rolanda casts a non-verbal _Revelio_ and deftly makes her way around Minerva’s own booby traps. It pays to stay nubile. 

Early on, when things were new between them, they had tried sharing the shower—both out of that early-days desire to spend every waking moment connected by the mouth and/or pelvis, as well as out of sheer survival instinct in this freezing pile. The problem is that Hogwarts was build several centuries before people really felt that teachers had any right to frivolous things like partners (or the ability to extend ones arms out to their sides). For a quick shag, they hadn’t exactly needed much space. But for having a proper wash, it was a trial for one person, and a functional impossibility for two.

Rolanda approaches the bathroom door with glee. She reaches out and pulls on the nob.

“ARGH!” she shrieks. 

“Ha!” Minerva crows, suddenly awake (and, rudely, also still warm and dry). She bursts out laughing.

Whether Minerva is woken by the splash, the clatter of the bucket falling on the floor, or Rolanda’s caterwauling, is immaterial to Rolanda at that moment. She stands there, stiff with shock. Her head and chest are soaked and freezing. She swivels around to face Minerva, who’s propped up on one elbow and looking incredibly smug.

“Not on Minerva! It’s December! That water was _freezing_!” 

“Yes, well, you might have thought about that before you tried to leave me to the same fate.”

Rolanda remains still, fuming. 

“Don’t be sore, Ro,” Minerva intones. “You’re not the only one who knows how to tie a knot by hand. Come back to bed, you fool. I’ll warm you up,” Minerva beckons as she offers her completely unapologetic apology. 

“Let me just get these off…” Rolanda grumbles. Minerva lies back down, arms behind her head, looking comfortable. 

As quickly as she rips off her thick, woollen, _sodden_ nightgown, Rolanda tosses it—with perfect aim—at Minerva’s head.

As Minerva’s muffled wail fills the room, Rolanda begins to feel considerably better. She strides back to bed, naked and chuckling, and hops under the _dry_ covers on her side.

After a few moments, Minerva manages to struggle free from the wet, clingy fabric and toss it across the room. She’s got that look on her face that she sometimes deploys when she’s trying to conceal amusement in favour of expressing anger or disdain—it’s one she frequently levels at her cleverer students, and Rolanda can see right through it. 

“Truce?” Rolanda offers.

Minerva snorts. "For today, maybe.”

“Better make the most of it then,” Rolanda says philosophically. “I believe you promised to warm me up?” 

With a shake of her head, Minerva sits up and lifts her tartan nightgown around her hips so that she can straddle Rolanda.

“A promise is a promise,” Minerva agrees, and punctuates it with a brush of her lips across Rolanda’s neck.


End file.
